a couple of long, deep breaths, he found his voice. “So—they’re yours?”
Kallie looked into his eyes. She nodded, and even though that was the answer he’d expected, something in Grant’s world still knocked sideways.
Who…?
No, he couldn’t ask that question out loud. It was brash. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Didn’t keep his mind from scrolling through the possibilities. There weren’t many—Kallie hadn’t dated anyone before Grant. Someone new must have come to town.
Oh. Except for Brendan Millard.
Grant clenched his jaw and lowered himself onto the sofa, the same one he’d used when he’d worked here, and Frank would encourage him to take a quick nap after lunch before returning to the tractor.
Brendan Millard’s parents ran the neighboring farm, and he’d grown up with Kallie. From the beginning, he hadn’t been a fan of Grant, who’d moved to Bitter Creek in high school and was a grade older than both of them. Grant suspected, though, it was because Brendan’s feelings for her ran deeper than friendship.
Grant rubbed at his temple and then down his shadowed jaw. The kids had to be Brendan’s. She would have told Grant if they were his.
Right?
“This is Peter,” Kallie said, her voice soft, bringing Grant’s thoughts around. “And this is Ainsley. Peter’s older by nine minutes, but Ainsley acts like she’s in charge.”
Peter threw a burp cloth over his head, and giggling a silvery laugh, Ainsley joyously yanked it off, causing them both to squeal.
Grant couldn’t help but smile a little. “They’re cute.”
“Thanks.”
Watching, Grant felt pummeled. Kallie had always insisted Brendan was just a friend, but what if that hadn’t been the case? Had he stepped in after Grant left? It would make sense. Brendan loved to farm. And he had a bunch of siblings. He was built for family.
Two things that weren’t in Grant’s blood—no matter how hard he’d searched for them years ago, when his relationship with Kallie had depended on it.
But where was Brendan now?
“We should feed the dogs,” Kallie said suddenly, rising to her feet, Ainsley in her arms. “I’ll grab the stroller from the truck bed if you don’t mind bringing Peter.”
“Oh. Sure.” He scooped up the little boy, so light he worried about squashing him. Relax, Young. He’s not a newborn pup.
He followed Kallie outside, heading for her truck parked in the turnaround. “I’m surprised Peter’s doing as well as he is, since he doesn’t know you,” she said over her shoulder.
“Why? Is he generally shy?” And why had she asked him to carry the child if she knew that about him? Grant looked at Peter in his arms, but the boy only squinted in the sun, distracted by the outdoors.
“Generally.” Kallie placed Ainsley on the grass so she could open the tailgate and pull out a folded double-wide stroller. “He loves people, but he has to warm up first.”
Ainsley quickly approached the stroller, seemingly recognizing it. Kallie unfolded it and lifted her daughter into one of the seats, then buckled her in. Grant brought Peter over and followed suit, albeit awkwardly.
“Do they like this thing?”
“They love it. I do, too.”
“Is it hard to maneuver around here?”
“Actually, it’s easy.” She checked the stroller’s visors so the sun wasn’t in the kids’ eyes, then pushed the stroller across the turnaround. “It’s a sport utility stroller, so the tires are really nice. We use it all the time.”
The kids kicked their legs and pointed out scenery as they rumbled over the gravel and dirt.
As they approached the barn, a Llewellin skittered out of the shadows and loped toward them.
“Hey, Chief.” Grant kept up with Kallie and the stroller, though a couple of yards to her right. “You remember Chief, right?” He motioned to the bird dog as Chief’s nose tugged him toward a stand of scrub oaks.
“I do. Took me a moment. He’s from the same litter as Ruby, I think.”
“Yep.” Grant slid his hands deep into his pockets, gravel scraping beneath his boots. When he’d worked here just out of high school, Frank held summer camps for training bird dogs, and in the winter, he guided hunters. The South Dakota prairie teemed with pheasants and grouse. One winter, some hunters had sold Frank a pair of Llewellins, and Grant had purchased Chief from their first litter.
He led the way into the barn where the dog food was kept, and Kallie followed, Chief slipping in between them.
“Do you remember where we keep the food?”
Instead of answering, he simply took keys from a nail on the wall and unlocked a cabinet beneath the worktable. Then he pulled out the tub of food.
Chief ran the length of the barn, joining Bella, his second setter who was too busy checking out all the new smells to acknowledge their presence.
“Did you get your other dog from your shelter?”
“Yep. That’s Bella. She’s gun-shy, but we do well together.”
He called her over and Bella approached with obvious fondness. Depositing the keys on the worktable, he knelt and buried his fingers in the tri-colored hair behind her ears. Bella closed her eyes and tilted her head toward him. Then he scooped food into a dish, and at the sound of food hitting metal, Chief was hot on Bella’s trail, looking for his own supper. Grant fed him, too.
“A previous handler spooked her while hunting. An all-too-common problem with our shelter dogs, I’m afraid.”
“Do you like working at the rescue facility?”
“I do. It’s fulfilling to witness so many success stories, you know?” He dropped some food in a bowl for Ruby. “We have it set up where setters are taken into foster homes for a while before they can be adopted. This helps us evaluate their true nature in a home environment. Plus, it gives them the comfort of a home while they wait for a permanent family.”
“Is that how you found Bella? Did you foster her?”
“Yep. And once I looked into her big eyes, I was a goner.”
Much like Kallie. He’d known she was special the moment he saw her.
Clearing his throat, Grant turned away and locked the dog food back in the cupboard, where it was safe from raccoons who sometimes explored the barn at night.
Call him soft but he had a love for the setters who needed extra understanding and attention. He’d found that passion while working here at Bitter Creek Farm, and when he’d gotten involved in Iowa training them and running the rescue facility, he’d realized he enjoyed
